How I Became a Housekeeper

Strapon_gb. "How I Became a Housemaid"

I was seriously looking for a job, and it didn't matter what kind—the choice for an 18-year-old without an education wasn't great anyway. After scouring a stack of newspapers with ads, I decided to try this one: "Housemaid wanted. Good pay. Tel..." Of course, there was something unmanly about this job, but if the pay was good and no heavy mental or physical labor was required, why not give it a try? I dialed the number: — Hello! I'm calling about the ad. Are you offering a housemaid job? — Yes, but you're male... This job requires a woman. — If you think I can't handle the duties

that any woman can handle, then you're mistaken. I'm ready to work, I don't care as what. — Are you serious, young man? Well, alright, you agreed to it yourself. Come today at six. She gave me the address, and we arranged to meet. Today was a good day, since I managed to arrange it on the first try, even with the uncertainty about being accepted. By six o'clock, I was already there. At the apartment, I was met by a rather attractive, nicely dressed young woman who introduced herself as Ira. She told me to come in, take off my coat, and make myself at home. Leaving my outerwear in the closet and entering one of the rooms, I immediately felt as if I had stepped into another world. Perfect decor and order, a beautiful pink bed, a cabinet with a large ornate mirror, fluffy dresses hanging on hangers, various cosmetic items—everything shone with beauty and fragrance. — Meet my bedroom. You will be taking care of it, keeping it in excellent condition... I felt I wouldn't be able to handle the task and might even ruin all this splendor that didn't belong to me, but Ira seemed to have no doubts about me. She led me to the other rooms, which were no less clean and tidy than this one. Gradually, Ira began explaining the duties of a housemaid—firstly, a housemaid must constantly maintain order, make the bed, cook, wash dishes, do wet and dry cleaning, and follow all the mistress's instructions. Great obedience and compliance are required. A housemaid even needs a certain vocabulary for communication and specific clothing (here I didn't quite understand what kind of clothing). — Of course, I understand that a girl is needed for such work, — Ira said, — but when I saw you, I immediately knew you were suitable. — But why? Maybe I won't manage? — You will! I'll pay you good money for it, — she looked me over again — I can tell just by looking at you that you can do women's work. I immediately blushed, feeling awkward. What did she see in me? Just a regular guy, and what does it matter how I look? But for Ira, it seemed to matter. — Listen, Yura — she addressed me — today you'll need to change. As a housemaid, you simply must be dressed appropriately. And don't be shy about anything. — But what should I be shy about? What clothing are you talking about? — Let's go to the bedroom, I'll show you everything... We entered the bedroom, Ira took out a beautiful box from the closet and told me to open it. I opened the box and saw women's underwear inside, but I didn't immediately understand it had anything to do with me. I thought I'd just get some instructions about cleaning the bedroom, but Ira didn't beat around the bush and explained right away: — This is your new clothing. I want you to try it on right now! My God, what is she talking about? That I should put on women's underwear? Well, that's just beyond the pale. What a nightmare, so Ira didn't say "housemaid" and make all those hints about my femininity for nothing! It was too late to do anything, as Ira actively started removing my old clothes, doing it with such force that I could only stand there frozen. Soon I was completely naked, head bowed, trembling with shame, and Ira was already aiming to pull stockings onto my legs. I was no longer able to resist, so I had to lift first one leg, then the other, allowing Ira to do what she intended. — Wonderful, just great! — she said when the stockings were fully on, — though the hairs on your legs will need to be shaved later. I looked in the mirror and was amazed! For the first time, my own legs were clad in black women's stockings, giving them incredible slenderness and sexuality. I was in turmoil from having to stand like that, naked, in just stockings under Ira's piercing gaze. But she wasn't the least bit flustered, as if she were simply dressing her own little girl. Next were panties—white, lacy women's panties. I really didn't want to put them on, but I had to. They fit well, over the stockings, hugging my waist, though they were too narrow and tight—they pressed, digging firmly into my butt. — Good, good. You'll make an excellent housemaid! Next was a bra. That one really seemed out of place—why a bra if there are no breasts? What is there to cover? But Ira was well-prepared—skillfully putting a beautiful bra on my chest, she stuffed some soft, jelly-like lumps under it instead of breasts, very much resembling breasts. Now I looked even more like a girl, but that wasn't all. A housemaid was supposed to have a dress to wear during her working days. For me, a black dress was prepared, with cut-off sleeves, a white lace collar, and a white apron like a housemaid's. It seemed completely unsuitable for me—after all, I'm not a woman, maybe it's not too late to cancel everything? But Ira didn't give me time to think and started actively putting it on me. The dress easily slipped over my head and was on me. It was so feminine that it seemed no one could remain a man in this dress. I had to suppress the awakening femininity within me and the rising wave of excitement. "Calm down, calm down, the last thing I need is for my dick to get hard in front of Ira..." — Look at yourself, you're a real housemaid! Later, I'll do your makeup—I'm a master at cosmetic tricks! You'll be irresistible! For now, put on this wig! I put on the wig with curly female hair provided to me, which complemented my already feminine appearance. From that moment, my working days began. Where could I go? I didn't want to lose the job and carried out the duties assigned to me. At first, housework didn't seem difficult—walking around the rooms, cleaning up after the mistress; scrubbing floors and walls was a bit harder, but that wasn't a problem either. The main discomfort was the clothing—what man would enjoy walking around in women's underwear? It was so feminine that it seemed I myself was becoming a woman under its influence, and that scared me the most. Well, how would you like walking around in stockings, pink panties, all these straps and lace? You're washing the floors, crawling on your haunches, but you find the position on all fours pleasant. Or you happily run from one room to another, gracefully moving your feet like a ballerina in a ballet, while trying to feel how beautifully the dress lifts. And how would you like serving Ira, literally kneeling before her (that was when she ordered me to clean her boots right on her feet) or, at her command! braiding her hair (I always considered that a purely girlish activity). And the worst part—I had to sleep at Ira's place, as the job required living on-site. I had to wear a women's nightgown and white lace stockings at night, as Ira ordered. And in the morning, I changed back into stockings (I had three pairs at first, which I alternated daily) and all the other housemaid clothing. Almost immediately on the third day of work, I underwent hair removal, after which literally everything was shaved, even almost all the hair on my head, replaced by a wig, and I also underwent a makeup procedure. Ira worked wonders with my face. I didn't think it could become so beautiful—full painted lips, magnificent eyelashes, rosy cheeks—it seemed like the face of some doll or beauty from a fashion magazine. I caught myself thinking I was pleased. Yes, I'm beautiful and I'm glad about it—now no ugly hairs on my legs, my legs became much neater and the stockings looked even more amazing on them, my face now matches all the other clothing and no longer reminds of my male sex. I began performing my housemaid duties much more responsibly and willingly; I no longer needed explanations or reminders—I tried to be helpful to Ira in everything. For which I received well-deserved rewards—Ira bought me a small wardrobe for my clothing, where all my feminine belongings were now stored. And later, she rewarded me with a new lingerie set—beautiful lace panties, a garter belt, white lace stockings with elastic attached to the belt, and a women's bodysuit. I immediately tried it on and was very moved by the incredible elegance and femininity of the new clothing. Sometimes, Ira's girlfriends came to visit. I felt awkward appearing before them like this and desperately wished they wouldn't recognize me as a man. Ira introduced me to her friends as her housemaid; they somewhat took advantage of my status, giving me instructions and orders, but it seemed none of them guessed who I really was. After all, I demonstrated feminine manners in everything, and there was nothing to give me away. The result of my week-long stay in Ira's apartment was the complete disappearance of any masculine traits in me, a softening of character, and the emergence of feminine features. I came to love my dresses, stockings, and tights; I no longer wanted to wear rough men's clothing—I realized it wasn't for me. My destiny is to be a woman, and there's nothing wrong with that! No one knows why we can't deviate from norms, why a man can't become a woman, so I see no reason to worry. A week passed, and we never actually discussed sex life. Yes, I masturbated in secret from Ira—the women's clothing excited me so much that I came powerfully and with pleasure. But Ira herself wasn't an object of sexual desire for me; male attraction to women disappeared, since by all parameters, I was a woman myself. So, I wasn't tormented by desires to sneak into her bedroom at night, to press her body against mine—that seemed so forbidden that it was better not to even entertain such thoughts. Everything became clear that night. As usual, I was sleeping in white elastic stockings, white panties, and a nightgown covered with lace trim. Ira came in unexpectedly and woke me up in a way I would remember for a long time. She inserted a large artificial dick into my slightly opened mouth. I woke up sharply, and when I realized what was in my mouth, I blushed all over. I heard Ira say "Suck!", and unable to resist the order, I began to suck slowly, comforting myself with the thought that all women do this and I should too. Every ridge of the dick was felt very well in my mouth; it seemed completely real! The dick was tied to Ira's waist with sturdy straps; Ira was also wearing black stockings, black gloves up to her elbows, and a black bra with a cut-out for her breasts (her breasts remained completely exposed). She grabbed me by the hair and held me firmly so I couldn't move on my own. She also threw off the blanket, exposing my appearance in women's underwear, obviously enjoying my complete submission. Yes, I felt somewhat ashamed and awkward, but I continued to suck, acting on the principle: if you're doing it, do it well and with feeling. Over time, I even started to enjoy it; the dick seemed so masculine, hard, and sexy that holding it in my tender mouth, with my girlish lips, was the height of bliss. When Ira finally took it out of my mouth, I even instinctively reached for it, but Ira just gently slapped my lips with her hand and said: — Not all at once. You'll have many more opportunities to hone your blowjob skills. Now, let's check how ready your little ass is: Ira took my limp legs, comfortably positioned me in the typical "woman spreads her legs, man enters from above" pose, carefully lubricated my anus with some ointment, and then slowly began penetrating my hole with the dick. It hurt; I endured, understanding the need for submission. The dick went in quite deep, making me sometimes squeal and jerk my legs convulsively. Gradually, it started to feel pleasurable—I felt like a real slut, a woman being mercilessly fucked, showing her true purpose. Yes, what can I say, it seems I'll make a good housemaid, too good: Ah! Ah! — I cried out. The bed creaked under the relentless onslaught; I held onto its headboard, and Ira continuously worked on me. Even light slapping sounds were audible, keeping up with the pace set by Ira. In this mad passion, I even managed to jerk my own dick with my hand at the same time, bringing it closer to the inevitable orgasm. I'm a girl, yes, I'm a girl! Fuck me, fuck me! I always! was a girl and will be one! Yes, yes!,... I could no longer stop the sudden, erupting stream of semen. At that moment, everything intensified sharply; it was the strongest orgasm of my life—I was simply struck by the most powerful sexual feelings! Ira stopped fucking me only when I spilled the last drop of semen and let out the last cry of bliss. After that night, our roles were permanently defined—I became a woman-housemaid, and Ira became my mistress and, at the same time, my lover. Over time, I changed so much that I was simply indistinguishable from a woman. Ira skillfully selected the right hormonal drugs, which not only brought out many feminine qualities in me but also led to the growth of my own female breasts! Now I'm very proud of my beautiful female breasts and also proud of my impeccable appearance, maintained with the help of epilation, cosmetic procedures, and a selection of beautiful women's underwear. Ira made me a woman, and I'm glad about it!